


Healing Hands

by Sorran



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Post-Battle, Season 3, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25163392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorran/pseuds/Sorran
Summary: Sometimes the aftermath of battle is a battle in its own right.
Relationships: Finan & Sihtric (The Last Kingdom), Sihtric & Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Sihtric & ofc
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	Healing Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Harrowing Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24864103) by [EspressoandJustice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EspressoandJustice/pseuds/EspressoandJustice). 



> This is inspired by, and leans heavily on, [EspressoandJustice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EspressoandJustice/pseuds/EspressoandJustice)'s brilliant fic [A Harrowing Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24864103). 
> 
> Because this is essentially the same fic from a different character's perspective, the dialogue is mostly the same (what Sihtric registers of it, anyway). You'll also recognise some phrases in key moments; as this is really meant to be a companion piece to EspressoandJustice's work, I stuck close to the original in order for those moments to be clearly recognisable.
> 
> The unnamed healer is an ofc of EspressoandJustice's. She has a smaller role here as Sihtric both knows nothing about her motivations, and is too preoccupied to pay attention to anything much outside of what's happening to him. That, and I didn't want to mess with EspressoandJustice's character. I do hope I did the original fic justice though.

The battle is won, but Sihtric's world has narrowed down to the burning pain in his side, and he is only dimly aware of a voice ordering “Fetch Lord Uhtred immediately”.

"You are alright", the same voice shushes him as he lets out a pained gasp. He can feel the blood soaking his tunic and his furs though, and he knows that there is too much of it and that he will bleed out if it doesn't stop soon. He is already too weak to do anything about it, and this is not how he wants to go.

Hands are frantically working on his armour, accompanied by a string of muttered curses he cannot make out over the rushing of his blood in his ears. 

Then his armour is gone.

There is a blast of cool air, and Sihtric hears the voices of his brother-in-arms and his lord. More hands join the first pair to ease off his tunic, too, and as Sihtric squeezes his eyes shut and cries out at the renewed pain of being jostled so, he vaguely thinks they should be spending less time getting him out of his clothes and more time putting his weapons in his hands so he can die like a warrior.

Yet another hand grips his upper arm in support. Its gentle warmth is enough of a contrapoint to the fire in his side to bring Sihtric back to himself a little. He can feel someone mop at the deep gash over his hip with a linen, then a female voice - the same voice from before? - explains “I must stitch this closed. It will be painful", the speaker adds, and Sihtric glances up at her as she continues to give instructions. One of the healers, he realises, his gaze drifting to the blood smears on her dress. 

“Getting lazy are ya, boy? Looks like someone got the upper hand on ya.” That's Finan's drawl teasing him, and Sihtric feels his lips curl up in a ghost of a smile despite himself. 

His other hand is being clutched tightly. “Sihtric, you must be stitched up and quickly. You and I both know this is far from enjoyable.” 

Uhtred. 

Sihtric squeezes his eyes closed again, nauseous at the prospect of what is to come. “Yes, lord” he forces out, to show he understands. It seems his lord is not willing to let him go that easily.

Two pairs of hands move Sihtric to lie on his side, and he has to bite his lip hard to stifle a cry of agony. Large hands clamp down on his legs, and then there is a forehead pressing against his own.

"It's alright, brother", Finan murmurs, breath warm on Sihtric's face. "We'll get ya all stitched up, and ya'll be back ta being a pain in our arses in no time."

Sihtric gasps an involuntary laugh that abruptly turns into a groan of pain as the fire in his side flares up. The first stitch is quickly followed by a second, and Sihtric cannot help trying to curl up to escape the harsh treatment.

“Easy, Sihtric”, Finan soothes, while his hand presses Sihtric's shoulder down to hold him in place.

It takes all of Sihtric's willpower to stay quiet and keep still. Covered in cold sweat, he desperately tries to focus on the feeling of Finan's calloused thumb smoothing over the side of his head rather than the needle going in and out of his flesh, adding to the pain with each stitch.

The next stitch _hurts_ and rips him out of his pain-induced haze with a jerk and a whimper. The hands restraining him immediately hold him down tighter, and Sihtric thrashes weakly. Has he not given enough for his lord?

Uhtred's voice rumbles above him, and while the tone of it is warm and encouraging, Uhtred's hands push him down harder to hold him still. 

Sihtric clenches his teeth and nods. He tries to stay strong, but he is at his limit. 

“It hurts, lord", he breathes in between gasps; it's as close to begging as he can get without disgracing either Uhtred or himself. 

“I know, Sihtric. We are almost through with it and you can rest”. Uhtred's reply is hoarse, and followed by silence. 

The longer the process takes, the harder Sihtric shakes; he can no more control it than he can control what the spinners of fate have designed for him. Every time he thinks he has finally reached his breaking point and is simply going to shake apart however, Finan's voice is there to pull him back together. The Irishman has barely moved, and Sihtric clings to the sound of his murmurings.

And then it is over. 

Sihtric is finally allowed to curl in on himself to ease his pain, and the unrelenting hands restraining him are replaced with much lighter ones cleaning him up with cool water while Finan's thumb continues to rub across his temple. 

“Ya tough bastard”, the Irishman praises with a soft chuckle. Moments later Lord Uhtred kneels in front of Sihtric and presses his forehead against Sihtric's.

“You did so well today", he too praises, one hand coming up to cup the back of Sihtric's head, keeping their foreheads pressed together. 

Sihtric opens his eyes and manages to nod, damp eyes meeting Uhtred’s. “Thank you, lord", he croaks, exhausted. He can barely keep his eyes open, and so he lets them fall closed again.

Words are exchanged above his head, and then Finan stands and pats him on the arm. “Get some rest, boy", he says, and Sihtric nods again, not trusting his ability to open his mouth without emptying his stomach all over himself as pain and exhaustion suddenly make him nauseous. He doesn't need to open his eyes to understand that Uhtred and Finan are leaving; there is plenty of work to do for the Lord and his second-in-command in the aftermath of battle, and Sihtric is thankful they stayed with him for as long as they did. 

It seems he has not been left completely alone however. As Sihtric gingerly rolls onto his back and lets himself sink into the soft surface he is lying on, someone sits down next to him in a rustle of clothes. Something cold is pressed against Sihtric's face, making him tense up instinctively, and he has to swallow hard and clench his teeth against the wave of pain this causes, nearly drowning out the soft apology that follows.

The cold sensation returns, softer and less unexpected this time, and Sihtric realises it must be the healer wiping his brow even before he opens his eyes to watch her. 

The cool water feels good, and Sihtric allows himself to relax into the gentle touches to his forehead and temples, across his cheekbones and down his neck. 

“Thank you” he offers quietly. This woman has saved his life; she is under no obligation to see to his comfort any further than she already has. 

The healer smiles at him and leans forward to smooth some hair from his forehead. “You are alright, Sihtric", she says soothingly. "Just rest now.”

Sihtric nods a little shakily. He is tired enough to pass out, and he knows he should sleep, but in a small corner of his mind he is still scared that he will not wake up, and end up being damned to wander the frozen wastes of Niflheim forever. 

The healer stands and turns to go, and before Sihtric has made a conscious decision to do so, he has raised his hand to catch her elbow. She turns back with a start, and for a moment all Sihtric can do is look at her. Then he swallows his pride and quietly asks "Stay … please", hoping that she has nowhere else to be now that he is stitched up and made comfortable. 

Without a word, the healer sits back down, and Sihtric finally surrenders to sleep.


End file.
